In so many words

It is words that bind us
         words that shape our lives
words that capture our gestures
         words that guide our minds
out of the darkness
         The rose for all its beauty
is inarticulate and carries
         no inherent message
its wordless script
         is but a summer long
its status springs entirely
         from the words
of our imagination
         in love or sorrow
it assumes the mantle
         that our emotions assign
Without the rain
         there is the sadness
of the rain that haunted
         the verse of Verlaine
the sobbing sound of notes
         from the violin
falling upon the silent city
         a city that is perhaps no more
than a congregation of words
         a text of intelligence
a single multi-tongued voice
         and so it goes—words
words watery words
         awash with meaning
words in which reality
         is pinned to the ground
words with the aid of which
         our dreams reach for the stars

John Lyons